


The Corset

by iamisaac



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 03:28:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Crossdressing - Warning, silliness - Warning
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3103832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamisaac/pseuds/iamisaac





	The Corset

_**Harry Potter: Harry/Ron**_  
 **Title** : The Corset  
 **Pairing** : Harry/Ron  
 **Rating** PG13/soft R  
 **Warnings** : Crossdressing, silliness  
 **Author’s notes** : Everyone knows that Draco looks gorgeous in a corset, but I started thinking that surely not EVERY guy looked good in such a garment…

Nobody could, with any truth, have said that the corset **suited** Ron. There was little doubt, however, that this was primarily due to Ron’s obvious embarrassment rather than any real defect with the corset itself. True, it was not Ron’s fault that his ruffled ginger hair clashed rather with the bright crimson of the material; nor even his fault that his discomfort with his clothing had caused a pink blush not just over his face and ears (a not uncommon sight) but down his neck and chest. Nevertheless, Harry could not help feeling that there were other young men who would have looked rather nice (even, bluntly, outrageously sexy) in the garment, even given these personal issues. It was Ron’s humiliation; his evident sense of being a figure of fun that caused the corset to look so utterly wrong. It was – Harry struggled for similes – like seeing Uncle Vernon dressed as a ballerina or Fleur Delacour as a skunk: Ron and corsets simply Did Not Mix.

“Stop laughing and get me out of this,” demanded Ron grimly.

Harry had been trying to suppress his amusement for the sake of their friendship but despite himself the giggles would burst out. He took a deep breath through his nose and bit down sharply onto his lip.

“Sorry.”

Ron was struggling with the fastenings, not for the first time, but with no result.

“I just brushed past the ruddy thing and it leapt out and attached itself to me. Now I can’t get it off. What’s more – stop laughing!” he added irritably – “it won’t let me put anything over the top of it.”

Well, that explained one thing, anyway. To say that Harry had been a little disconcerted when Ron barged through his bedroom door wearing only a red corset would be an understatement. One look at Ron’s face, however, had told him that it would be wiser not to ask questions.

“I don’t suppose Fred and George have been around lately?”

Ron seethed. It was clear that if it had been possible he would have turned an even deeper shade of red.

“Yesterday. If they’ve… and they must’ve…. I’ll kill them,” he finished bitterly.

“It’d be more help to find out how you get it off,” Harry suggested mildly.

“Yeah.” Ron rubbed a hand across his hot and bothered face. “Yeah. Um, about that. Harry, I’m sorry to ask you, but…”

“I’ll try and get it off,” Harry interrupted, “but I’m not sure how good I’ll…”

“Um…” It was Ron’s turn to interrupt. He was shifting from one foot to the other and looked even more uncomfortable than when he’d first arrived. “It’s not that simple, mate. Um… it came with this.”

He produced a scrap of parchment with curling lettering across it and half threw it at Harry. Harry looked down. The parchment read:

_Cinderella, you **shall** go to the ball. But you’ll need a kiss from a handsome prince to release you from this spell.._

Ron was still shuffling on the spot, his eyes fixed firmly on his feet. Harry looked from the paper to Ron to the paper again.

“Does this mean what I think it means?”

“Dunno,” mumbled Ron. “But I’ve tried everything else. I mean, you can try to unfasten it, but I reckon….” He trailed off.

“Let’s try that first,” said Harry practically.

He swung himself out of bed and reached his hands to the corset strings. It was no use. Although the bows appeared to be daintily, not to say flimsily, tied, they resisted the greatest efforts of Harry’s fingers.

“A knife doesn’t work either,” said Ron gloomily. “Or a wand.”

“Yeah, I can imagine.”

Whilst he had been concentrating on trying to release Ron, Harry had been too busy to look at him. Now, however, as he glanced up and again caught Ron in his full glory, he couldn’t stop a loud snort of laughter from escaping him.

“Glad to cause you amusement.”

“Sorry,” apologised Harry again. “It’s just…” His lip was going to have tooth marks for weeks from where he kept biting it. “…I don’t think red’s your colour, mate.”

“Can we get on with it?”

“Yeah.” Harry hesitated. “So – er – what happens now?”

Ron muttered something unintelligible. His ears were so red that they looked as if they could be on fire.

“What?” Harry demanded.

Ron’s hands were clenched.

“I said I think you have to kiss me.”

Ron wouldn’t meet Harry’s eye. Harry, truth to tell, would have had problems meeting Ron’s. Kissing Ron would have been odd enough at the best of times, but kissing Ron _dressed in a corset_ had to be one of the most surreal things that Harry had ever found himself asked to do.

“Okay.” Harry hesitated. “Um… is your cheek okay?”

“What? Oh. Yeah.”

There was an awkward pause as both boys psyched themselves up. Then, clumsily, Harry leant forward and gave Ron a quick peck on the cheek. Ron’s cheek felt as hot as it looked; and there was a slight bristle to the skin.

“Have you started shaving?” Harry demanded.

Ron looked shifty.

“Not really. But I was thinking that maybe… Hey, never mind that now, anyway.” He pulled again at the corset, but it showed no more sign of coming off. “Bugger.”

“Mmm.” Harry looked thoughtful. “I did wonder about that. I think it’s going to have to be lips.”

“I’m going to kill Fred and George. Slowly and painfully. With a knife. Or maybe a fork; d’you think that would hurt more?”

“Probably,” Harry said vaguely. “Oh, what the hell…”

He leaned in again and pressed his lips against Ron’s. It was odd: Ron was taller than he was, and Harry had never tried to kiss someone taller than himself. And, of course, Ron was male and his best mate and dressed in a corset. But apart from that, it was just a normal Friday night…

“It moved!” Ron yelled excitedly, his hands reaching round to the strings on the corset. “I swear I felt it move.”

“Hey, I said I was good, but I never knew I’d make the earth move for you.”

“Shut up.” Ron gave him a push. “The corset, you prat. Except…” He frowned. “…it’s still not coming off properly. Damn it, what’s the problem?”

Harry sighed resignedly. Both he and Ron knew exactly what the problem was. The trouble was going to be doing anything about it.

“Get the feeling that the corset doesn’t think I’m doing a good enough job?”

“You can’t be meant to… you know…” protested Ron.

“Can’t I?” Harry raised an eyebrow. “You know your brothers. Do you think they wanted to make this easy for you?”

“Maybe,” mused Ron, thoughtfully, “I could start with a knife and fork and then use a spoon – or maybe chopsticks, yeah, that’d work, to dismember them better. I hate them, I really do.”

“Yes, but meanwhile,” Harry pointed out, “you’re still dressed in that corset.”

“Good job you pointed it out,” Ron grumbled, “otherwise I wouldn’t have noticed. So what are we going to do?”

Harry shrugged.

“There are two options. Either you keep it on until you see the twins, or we do the thing properly.”

“What, you mean like, like, tongues and stuff?”

“Yeah.”

The two boys looked at each other. Harry was wearing an old pair of navy blue pyjamas that had seen better days, and his hair was standing up on end with even more determination than usual. Compared to Ron, though, he was very suitably dressed. Ron looked at him appealingly.

“Harry, I can’t stay like this, you know I can’t. I wouldn’t ask, mate, but…”

“What you’re trying to say,” Harry said, unable to resist a grin, “is, ‘please Harry, snog me’.”

Ron looked as if throttling him would be a preferable option, but was clearly wise enough to know that he didn’t have a lot of choice.

“Can you just…?”

“Oh, come here.”

Harry grabbed Ron and dragged him into an uncomfortable embrace. Somehow, between them they seemed to have too many arms, and Ron’s left hand was stuck against Harry’s pyjama top whilst Harry’s glasses had been knocked askew and were hanging off one ear.

“Is it supposed to work like this?” Ron asked dubiously.

“Shut up,” said Harry, and kissed him.

He shut his eyes. But even with his eyes shut, Harry thought, he would have known that he wasn’t kissing a girl. Weirdly, that didn’t actually mean that he didn’t like it. He’d enjoyed kissing girls – well, when Cho hadn’t been crying over him at the same time, anyway – but actually… this was… it was… Ron’s mouth was warm and firm and it actually felt – well, _nice_. It was kind of weird feeling satin on Ron’s back and realising that it was a corset, but at the same time… Harry found that he didn’t really give much of a damn about the corset any more. He also found that he was enjoying this rather too much; his pyjama trousers were becoming uncomfortably tight as his erection strained against them and… oh God, he hoped Ron didn’t notice because things were embarrassing enough between them without Ron thinking he fancied him.

The corset was definitely becoming looser. It was rubbing against Ron’s back with a rustling sound. And there was a strange lump against Harry’s thigh, which he couldn’t understand until he realised that… maybe he wasn’t the only person who was finding this a bit of a turn on.

The two boys pulled away, almost in unison. (It was the first thing, Harry thought inappropriately, that they’d managed to do right.) Ron’s face had not lost its colour; Harry had a bad feeling that he might look almost as pink as Ron did.

“Er… how’s that?” Harry asked, looking at the corset rather than Ron and finding that he no longer had any desire to laugh.

“Better.” Ron tugged, and the corset moved again. “Um – I think we’ll have to… you know… a bit more so I can get it off, but it’s definitely moving.”

“Good.”

Harry hoped that Ron thought he meant the corset, rather than the fact they’d have to kiss again. It was embarrassing that he was looking forward to the kiss for its own sake.

“Yeah, so…”

“Er, shall we lie on the bed, and then I can try and take it off you and…” Harry realised the dubious sound to what he was saying. “Oh, God, if we’re there, I can try and get the corset off, okay?”

“Sounds good to me,” agreed Ron.

They lay next to each other on the bed, and Harry discovered for the first time that it was imperative to be close and personal with someone when you were sharing a single bed with them.

“Right,” he said, trying to sound practical. “If I have my hands on your front… I mean…” He stuttered to a halt. This was more awkward than it had originally seemed. “Look, I’ll hold on to the corset strings and then try and undo them, okay?”

(Was it wrong to be enjoying this? It was, wasn’t it? It was wrong.)

“Thanks, Harry.” Ron sounded embarrassed and grateful in equal measures.

“What are friends for?” Harry knew that his voice sounded slightly strange, but hoped that Ron would just put it down to the peculiar situation that they were in. “Right. Er…”

“Yeah.”

It was Ron’s turn to start proceedings. Harry’s hands were already on the corset strings (and oh gosh, his left hand was kind of rubbing against Ron’s cock and he’d have to pretend this wasn’t happening and _definitely_ that he hadn’t noticed that Ron was hard, and…) when Ron pressed his lips with an appealing uncertainty against Harry’s. You’d have thought, mused Harry vaguely, that they’d have got used to it by now – after all, this was their fourth kiss of some sort – but it was still odd (and arousing, but he was still trying to pretend that wasn’t true, thank you very much).

Ron was – well, sort of gentler than Harry would’ve thought (if it had ever occurred to him to think about it). And yes, okay, a little bit clumsy but that was weirdly appealing. Especially when combined with enthusiasm that Ron was desperately trying to hide.

Harry’s hands fumbled with the ties on the corset. They were definitely beginning to shift a bit, and he could get his hand inside the corset next to Ron’s skin.

“Mmph…” Ron had jerked back.

“What?”

“Cold hands, mate.”

“Sorry.”

Stubbornly, the corset was refusing to move now that they were not attached at the lips. Harry didn’t mind.

“Shall we…?”

“Yeah.”

Harry’s mouth was back on Ron’s, his tongue beginning to explore a little deeper into Ron’s mouth. Ron really did taste nice; vaguely like butterbeer mixed with honey. The corset was putting up a stern fight, but it was nearly off. Harry just needed to push it over Ron’s arms, and then…

Oh.

Somehow, Harry hadn’t previously registered the likely consequences of success. Not until they were staring him in the face, anyway. For they had indeed managed to divest the corset from Ron; but this meant that a tall, naked and blatantly aroused Ron was lying next to him. Harry was grateful for the privacy his pyjamas gave him, for his own state of desire was much the same. He attempted to draw his eyes away from Ron’s (large) erection and saw that Ron’s flushed cheeks had not faded with the removal of the original source of his embarrassment.

“Um… thanks,” Ron murmured, getting up clumsily and falling out of the bed.

“No problem,” Harry said vaguely; and as Ron backed hastily out of the door, he wished he’d had the courage to suggest that they did it again sometime.

Without the corset though, perhaps.


End file.
